The Light in the Darkness
by Calculated Artificiality
Summary: Super short after-fic about Gillian's thoughts after Darkness and Light.  Therefore, Darkness and Light spoiler.  Mainly, I'm looking for story-line assistance.  :   Help is GREATLY appreciated and enthusiastically encouraged.


**A/N: Okay. It's short. And it's crappy. But honestly, the main reason I'm publishing it is because I WANT TO WRITE A LIE TO ME STORY. However, I am having trouble with direction and starting off points. Therefore, I am turning to YOU, the Lie to Me FanFic audience- What storyline/arc would you like to see in a story? Suggestions? Something you want to read about?**

**Seriously. Anything. PM me or just leave a review and I will try to write a story per your suggestions/ideas.**

**Thanks! :)**

**SPOILER FOR DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 3 3**

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The Light in the Darkness

I just can't get over it. The feel of his lips on mine—the feel of his thighs touching mine. We were sitting so close that even through our dark and somewhat thick clothing the jolt was intense. The heat passed between our bodies.

When we stopped kissing, I saw him glance briefly at my mouth before turning to look at the porn mogul. Just a quick glimpse—from my eyes, to my lips, then to my eyes again. Like he was trying to figure something out—and I was, too. I'm sure it showed on my face, but I was trying to figure out how, suddenly, my heart felt like it was on fire. And when I saw his delicious eyes pause on my mouth, my stomach leapt down into my body and began swimming.

It hasn't stopped—it hasn't come up for air since. Every time I see him it's like I'm going to throw up and laugh and cry all at the same time.

Don't get me wrong—I've had moments like this for years. Working with this gorgeous, intelligent, delinquent, ridiculously annoying man has been the joy and bane of my existence. But it's never been like this. Never.

We hadn't discussed the kiss—and it was our first filled with even the tiniest bit of passion. I felt a familiar tingling in my groin during that kiss—a familiar but almost forgotten tingling, and it was all I could do not to let my eyes travel (or worse, my hands) to his trousers to see if the feeling were perhaps mutual. No. The kiss was improvised. And it was magnificent.

The meeting with the porn mogul had been his idea. Of course. Sometimes I feel like he dreams up some of his schemes just to see how uncomfortable he can make me. But what he didn't anticipate was my lack of discomfort. I am not quite the prude he thinks I am. Or, at least, he thought I am.

Ever since I "let slip" that being tied up has always been a fantasy of mine, he's been looking at me differently. With an air of suspicion—intrigue. Like he's resumed trying to figure me out.

Good.

I didn't exactly mean to say it. I guess I was reeling from the kiss and from the proximity of Cal LIghtman, of course. That man just does things to me. It's a combination of his stature, his build, his scent (dear Lord, his scent), and the presence he exudes on a constant basis.

When I first met him I thought it was all an elaborate act. I thought—no one can be "on" all the time. But, he really is. He really is—and it does something to my heart, it does something to my head, and for years now it's been doing something to my panties.

Anyway, I didn't mean to say it. The kiss had me under a spell. As soon as I said it, I flushed a little. The threesome thing was a lie, I've never thought of being into that. But, the bondage thing—oh. I've had many a fantasy (most of them involving Cal, no less) about that one.

He picked up on it. I knew he would. I decided to play it off—to play coy, so to speak, I guess. Because what sort of friendship—especially a charged friendship like ours—would do well with bondage as a confirmed topic of conversation.

Instead of confirmation I said "In your dreams."

His response, too, made it down to my panties: "Abso-bloody-lutely."

Now, at night, I picture him lying in his bed, imagining me sprawled out on mine, bound by his hand. I imagine him getting hard—and I imagine his hand, firm, like it would be when he tied my restraints, yet characteristically gentle, rubbing up and down his length.

And I take my soft hands and slip them into my pajama pants—and I always come to the same image: Cal Lightman. Been happening for years.

I hope he meant it when he said "Abso-bloody-utely."

I've been dreaming about it for years. Now, at least we're on the same page.


End file.
